“There’s No such Thing as Time”

spider web poem

Original Poem:

Whirls reality, there’s no such time as Now
whose dreams swept , fleeting like the stars
whose flushed our universe in oceans arched
whose figure-eight returns to no-such place
Where there’s no future nor a past remain
we’re left with sacred,
waning
when?

Now
whirling
sacred time
no future, past remain
whose figure-eight returns to no such place.
Flushed our swirling universe in oceans arched
whose dreams burn, fleeting like the stars.
Still,  reality,
our time,
is only
Now.

“The Goodbye Clown”

MVC-005SPhoto by Jacqueline Casey

“The Goodbye Clown”

It tolls; the old town clock is winding down.
It’s time to leave the party; say goodbye.
He’s played the fool and knows he’s but a clown
but fantasies go deep and so he sighs:

“Time’s granted me another twenty-four,”
to ghost who sits in silence at the bar.
“I’m granted power for a world in need.
So, what do you think people ache most for?”

“There’s power in some money, that’s for sure,”
(the barkeep gently nods at old tip jar).

“But dollar’s hapless in so short a space.
I’d rather give a power frees all doubt:
man shown the mystery of Universe
so, for a time, a God we humans be.”

“That’s well and good if there’s no memory,”
says barkeep, shining up another glass.

The old man stumbles; he prepares to go.
He thinks he’s Bogie, playing roles in life.
He’s lonely; haunts the bars for his Bacall.
She’s blonde and does not look like his ex-wife.

“Hey, better that you go before you fall!”

Our barkeep opens creaking door to vent

the scent of smoke and conversation stale.
A pale and misty rain the morning’s sent.
His client nods; a cabby’s promptly hailed.

In blazing light, he mumbles out the door.

He knows the party’s over half past four.